


Ill-Advised Social Media Useage

by Ceranovis (KiiKitsune)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Begging, Daddy Kink, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 19:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiiKitsune/pseuds/Ceranovis
Summary: "--just like at Survivor Series, when I beat you into nothing, and you look up and you call /me/ Daddy."Corbin has more important things to do than re-record a poorly thought out promo.





	Ill-Advised Social Media Useage

**Author's Note:**

> Corbin forced my hand on his one. I don't even like daddy kink, but this was like shooting fish in a barrel. No, actually, this was like being handed a pre-shot fish. 
> 
> The promo in question:  
> https://twitter.com/BaronCorbinWWE/status/925498210461855744

He probably should have re-recorded his promo without that last bit in it. But really, he had much more pressing matters to attend to.

Baron kicked one foot up onto the couch, yanking his studded belt open to shove a hand into his jeans and squeeze. He groaned, dropping his head back against the armrest. Throwing his free hand up, he dragged his beanie down over his eyes. Darkness engulfed him and narrowed his world down to the satisfying pressure of his hand.

So maybe he’d gotten a little worked up. A little carried away. It was that loudmouth’s fault anyways.

He could practically see Mike now. That stupid, smarmy grin. The gelled-back hair and expensive suits. Never, _ever_ saying anything important but opening his mouth all the time anyways. It would feel so good to punch the pretention right out of him. And Baron could see that too. Could feel the ghost of skin against his knuckles as he hit again and again and _again_. Until Mike was laid out on his back, a mess made of his perfect hair. Maybe his lip would split. A shock of red painting that filthy mouth.

Baron shifted his grip to push the heel of his palm against the base of his cock, fingers locked tight around the head. There wasn’t much room to move in the confines of his jeans and boxers, but this would be quick and dirty anyways. He was wound too tightly for it to be anything but.

Mike would give him that _look_. Eyebrows drawn together, wide eyed and panicky. Shuffling backwards with flailing limbs and a hand raised towards him as if that would be enough to hold him off. And Baron would reach down right past that arm and grab his tie. Drag him close so he could hear the surprised gasp of Mike choking on that fine, silk noose. 

Baron’s mouth silently mimicked the words in his mind. _Say it! Beg me!_

Of course, Mike wouldn’t. He’d spit out something snarky. He wouldn’t be broken so quickly. So Baron would rip at his dress shirt until the buttons gave in and the white fabric was spread wide open. He’d hold Mike to the ground by the throat and claw down Mike’s chest, nails catching nipples, until Mike’s voice cracked and his skin was cross-hatched with red. Mike would be crying then. Fat, ugly tears staining his blotchy cheeks.

Baron bit his bottom lip, jerking himself faster.

_Say it!_

Mike would moan pitifully instead of responding. He’d push Mike’s face to the side, feel those hot tears wet against the palm of his hand. And Mike would crack. A tiny, hoarse _please_ spilling out from between bloody lips. Another push, and he’d say it again. Louder. Rinse and repeat. Until Mike could finally look up at him through watery eyes and say _Please, I want it._

Baron tugged his jeans lower with his free hand, yanking hard on the waistband the way he imagined doing with Mike’s dress pants. His jeans only dropped an inch or so, but he’d tear Mike’s pants right off. Throw them aside like trash, and dive down to mark up Mike’s thighs with his teeth. Mike wouldn’t be able to wrestle in those tiny black trunks for weeks. Not without everyone _knowing_.

Baron let out a low hum as the fantasy shifted and morphed. His mind conjured up a ring around them, the suit gone entirely and those trunks tangled around Mike’s boots. His thighs would be a patchwork of teeth marks and bruises, spread open and inviting Baron in.

_I need it. Please._

Baron holds his breath as his mind and hand supply him with an approximation of _tightwetheat_. He would push in just like that. Fucking Mike open and raw. Vicious and relentless. He would bite and mark and _claim_. Mike would sob, overwhelmed and torn down to his base foundation. No more pretention. No more smart mouth. All the layers peeled back to reveal sweet, sweet submission.

And then, finally, Mike would break wide open.

_Fuck, Daddy, please!_

Baron bit his tongue as he came, pleasure rolling through him and drawing his muscles in tight before releasing all at once. Reaching up, he pushed his hat back into place and stared up at the ceiling. Clearer headed than before, Baron had a thought and winced.

Survivors Series was going to be… a challenge.


End file.
